


Suits and dresses

by TheWild



Series: Old habits die hard [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: All is good, Angela gets drunk, Angela gets drunk again, F/M, Fluff and Smut, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, reader is female, someone hide the liquour from this handsome German lady, then you meet Soldier: 76, you imagine Jack in a suit and get horny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-03-04 16:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13369068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWild/pseuds/TheWild
Summary: Jeopardizing your freelance job at Overwatch, you are incredibly honest when talking about a certain Strike Commander.





	1. Prologue

“If he dressed in a suit, I would totally fuck him.”

You are as sober as can be because you still have to drive home- the person you’re talking to, is not. Angela is only slightly lightheaded but you can see the alcohol taking effect by the youthful blush and slightly glossy eyes she’s sporting. That, and she’s having a really hard time standing on both legs at the same time.

“You are joking,” she slurs, taking another sip and tracing circles on the tablecloth. You knew Angela wasn’t attracted to men, but she had eyes. 

“Believe me, if you like dick, the man’s like a fucking gift-wrapped present waiting to be opened,” you shrug, grabbing a handful of salted nuts and catapulting them into your mouth.

It was another formal Overwatch event- you didn’t like those. You praised the heavens that you only had to attend these every once in a while on account of you not actually working for Overwatch, but it was still a hassle. Angela’d been quick to notice it and always made sure to tag along with you.

“Either way, I’ve seen you eyeing Moira,” you drop the hint, winking, and her blush gets even worse.

“We are just partners!” she tries to sound aggressive but it comes out more like a pout. You grin.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, honey,” you laugh, “either way, I’ll be going home for today.”

“Aww, you haven’t talked to the dick-wrapped present yet!”

You’re sure she means ‘gift-wrapped’ and by that means your description of Morrison, but you decide to ignore the Freudian slip.

“I’ll live. Say hi to Reinhardt for me,” you smile before giving her a hug- you would’ve stayed if she needed a lift but Reinhardt had offered to take her back to her apartment and that was a relief.

* * *

Something’s wrong. When you came into work the next day, there’d been several very poignant stares and one note on your desk- ‘talk to me’ written by Angela.

So you go to the medical bay first, where she pulls you to the side and looks anywhere but you, blushing. Is she going to confess? No way. Angela’s type was not you, you knew that. She’d told you.

“You remember our talk about the Strike Commander yesterday?” she starts, and you recall it clear as day- how couldn’t you? 

“Well...I might’ve accidentally told Jack…” 

You give her the most deadpan stare you can muster, sighing.

“You are kidding me, Angela,” you say solemnly, the mere idea of his reaction scaring the shit out of you.

“I am not. I was a bit lightheaded and then talk about crushes came and-”

You sigh again and she stops talking.

“I’m really sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m just wondering if I should confront the man or leave him be.”

She glances at the door again to make sure nobody’s out there.

“If it’s worth anything, he seemed flattered by it.”

You can’t help your beaming smile.

* * *

He’s in his office- of course he is, where else would he be at this time of day- and you knock curtly with a newfound confidence. If he knew about your...preferences...might as well try to convince him to actually go along with this.

“I’m busy, can this wait?” you hear him ask, and you snort.

“Not really, no,” you reply with vigor and even before the last word has come out of your mouth, the sliding doors open. The Strike Commander is staring, flustered, clearly also wanting to talk about this.

“It’s…” he pauses, looking around the room, “good to see you.”

“Yeah.”

You awkwardly remain in the doorway for a few seconds before you gather up the courage to step inside properly- the doors closing softly.

“Angela, uh…” he starts but you interrupt.

“She was drunk,” you say with a smile, “ _ very _ drunk.”

His baby blue eyes finally look into yours- determined and sparkling.

“So you don’t want to go out on a date?”

You were moving to sit down in front of him but stop moving the chair, making yourself fall awkwardly on the floor. He’s quiet.

“I’m fine, I’m okay.” you mutter it quietly while standing up, even though your leg hurts a little, “you want to go out with me?”

“Only if you want to.”

You hadn’t really thought Morrison was this straightforward and relaxed when it came to things like romance- you’d never seen a partner on his arm. You had half a mind to think he was still a virgin, even though with those looks that’d be doubtful.

“Of course I do.”

* * *

You’re waiting at your door, tight black dress that reaches your knees flattering your figure. You’ve gone all out for the sake of making this date as impeccable as possible, and you’d silently prayed he’d specifically remembered the part about the suit.

And oh, he had- you noticed it when he stepped out of the taxi.

His hair was gelled up like always, leaving his magnificently sculpted face free of any disturbances. He didn’t wear the standard eyepiece- you could see both of his beautiful blue eyes clearly.

Besides that, he wore a pretty plain suit- just a tight black colour with a blue shirt, but it fit him so well you swallowed a lump in your throat. You were  _ so  _ glad you were wearing your favourite dress.

“Hi,” he sheepishly grinned, walking up the stairs to your door and you suddenly felt like going out would be too much temptation- better to just get him inside.

“Hey. Want to come in?” you ask, searching for your keys in your bag- your fingers are stumbling and your face is turning red.

“Sure. I don’t know if we’ll get back outside then, though, sweetheart,” he winks at you and you look him briefly in the eye when he adds the pet name. Can this man get any more adorable?

“That’s fine-” you croak, coughing, “that’s okay. Come in.”

You finally manage to open the door and he motions for you to go first, hand resting on the small of your back- he’s warm.

Your terraced house isn’t especially fancy- you got around well and the pay at Overwatch wasn’t half bad, but you had a feeling Morrison was used to a lot more.

“Looks nice,” he notes, leading himself into the living room, and you leave your coat and purse in the hallway before looking him over once again- for good measure.

“You want to get rid of that coat?” you ask him with a smile, and he turns- he’s standing up straight, like always, with his arms behind his back and that damn grin still on his face.

“Already trying to get me out of my clothes, huh?”


	2. Chapter 2

You give him an incredulous and very embarrassed stare before your mouth manages a quiet ‘fuck you’- nonetheless, he starts taking off the coat.

Slowly.

It’s like he’s completely aware of what he’s doing to your nether regions.

“Uh, you want something to drink? I have some liquor, if that’s what you’d like,” you mutter while you move towards the kitchen, but he stops you with a hand on your shoulder- the touch is soft but you feel like it’d be hard to get out of it anyway, because it’s still Morrison, beefcake extraordinaire.

“Are we going to go out later?” he asks- measuring the situation. All you can do is shrug. It was up to him, really, anything would be fine for you right now.

“Whiskey, then,” he lets go of your shoulder and you pity the loss of warmth, but quickly make work of his drink- pouring another glass for you as well. You reckon the alcohol-filled drink means you’ll be staying right where you are.

You find him casually leaning against your couch- it’s a sight to behold to see the poster boy of Overwatch with slouched shoulders and a relaxed back, a few buttons on his shirt undone already and his tie loosened- when you hand him his drink. You down yours in one quick go and immediately regret it- it’s been a while since you’ve had a drink this strong and it burns all the way down your throat, leaving you with warm cheeks. He chuckles and rolls up his sleeves.

Could he be any more heavenly?

“How’s work? I can imagine it’s quite hectic to be working as a freelancer for us,” he smiles, taking calculated sips- you lean up against the wall holding your empty glass with two hands.

“Good. Torbjörn should try to make a bit more concise mission reports but aside from that, I love it,” you reply, before you realize that comment could make the conversation stagnate, “what’s it like at the top?”

“Stressful.”

“No shit,” you smile, but there’s a flash of genuine distress on his face before he returns the gesture- you’d have to ask Angela if he’s really doing alright.

“You’ve got a nice place,” he continues, even though you somehow remember him already saying that- you nod.

“The upstairs is kind of up for a new layer of paint, but besides that it’s pretty cozy,” you reply, looking around for good measure. It’s only when you return your attention to him that you notice his poignant stare.

He downs the rest of his drink and stalks over slowly- you remain in place like a deer in headlights. You’d never thought you’d get this far. Once he’s finally close to you, he carefully takes the glass out of your hands and places it on your cupboard nearby- all the while not breaking the eyecontact you two are having. 

You could stare into those eyes for days.

“So,” he starts, trailing finger light touches over your bare arm towards your neck, “I’m wearing a suit, and I specifically remember Angela saying that meant you’d…”

He trails off and you lick your lips, carefully glancing down to his.

“I’d totally fuck you,” you whisper, and it’s all the confirmation he needs.

The hands that had been touching your skin like feathers settle on your cheeks and he pulls you close- you have to lean up slightly to be able to reach his lips. He starts sweetly- his lips are soft and it’s only when you give the slightest of moans that his kiss turns more aggressive. You’re too busy focusing on what he’s doing to you by just kissing you- it takes a few seconds before you realize his hands are travelling to the back of your dress and are carefully undoing the zipper, making sure your hair doesn’t get stuck.

When it drops to the ground, he pulls away- you lean your hands on his arms for support and give him a pout- but all he’s doing is looking down.

“You should wear this dress more often,” he whispers- a hint of amusement in his voice- while he grabs at your ass.

“I keep it for special occasions.”

He laughs curtly again while you pull off his tie.

“Likewise, you could wear more suits.”

He grins at your suggestion but doesn’t reply- instead putting his mouth to work on your neck, nipping and biting and licking while he undoes your bra- you’re too distracted to continue taking off his clothes while he massages your breasts.

He nestles a leg between your thighs, carefully pushing you further back against the wall so you’re backing up into his touches- he’s making your peaks stiffen while surely giving you several hickeys. 

“Your clothes-” you whine before a moan escapes again.

“What about them?” he teases, turning back up to look at you while one hand travels down and pushes against your groin.

“Off,” you first say before you realize that sounds like a caveman, “they gotta go.”

“Is that really a good idea? You’re already this wet-”

“Take ‘em off, Morrison, or so help me I will-”

Two fingers drag along your throbbing folds and you let out a whine.

“So help you, you will what?”

Man, what a fucking tease!

“I’ll be done before there’s any fucking involved,” you admit, leaning in when his fingers dive beneath your panties and start stroking.

“I see,” he notes, giving your nipple a lick while he easily inserts a finger- thumb stroking your clit slowly. You’d feel bad about not helping him along if it weren’t for the fact that he seemed intent on not letting you- every movement you make towards his length is intercepted by a new tempo down there or a bite on your nipple.

When he enters a second finger, they start stroking more vehemently and faster- you are moaning sweet nothings against his neck while warmth starts to bloom in your stomach.

Until he stops.

He pulls them out as slow as possible and by now you’ve realized this man is the incarnation of sweet, sweet temptation- he leans back to undo his belt and pull down his underwear.

You look down briefly and blush at his throbbing length- he gently lifts you up and lets his tip stroke your folds softly. The hint of a groan escapes his mouth but you capture his lips with yours, urging him to get a move on- he carefully inserts himself.

Slowly, earning a moan with every inch- and when he’s finally settled in he immediately sets a quick tempo, releasing your mouth to dive back down and play with your breasts.

Not that you’re going to complain about that.

“See-” he grunts, “the clothes can stay-”

You let out a laugh.

“Sweetheart.”

You’re grabbing at his hair until you feel his tempo become irregular- slightly feral, if that was even a word to describe it- but you’re getting so close to release you don’t exactly care about how he gets you there.

When you’re finished, he’s not- yet, until you whine his name in sweet bliss. 

You remain there for a few minutes, sweating against the wall and intertwined in each other's limbs.

You’d have to thank Angela.


	3. Chapter 3

The Overwatch base blowing up had been quite the surprise. You had been flying around for most of the time right after your little sexcapade with the head of the organization because work had been piling up lately- it was your job to deflect rumors and bad mouthing about Blackwatch.

Which was hard enough as is considering you didn’t even know what it was to the fullest extent.

About three weeks into countless flights you’d gotten the idea in your head that you had to call Morrison- just to say hi, maybe chat a little, maybe ask him out to dinner for real this time. But then you watched the little screen in the airplane as the Switzerland base lay in ruins.

Out of pure shock, you couldn’t react very emotionally at first- you had thought it was a joke, to be frank.

But it wasn’t.

The following years were a blur of job proposals by shady businesses, a lot of liquor and monthly sessions at the psychiatrist to make sure you were doing alright mentally. The guilt of ‘I could’ve saved someone had I been there’ and ‘if I had done my job properly, there wouldn’t be an explosion in the first place’ had been eating at you as well as the thought that most of your colleagues were dead.

You’d spent years trying to properly mourn and subsequently forget Angela and her bright personality, or Moira and her endless stream of sass, and Winston, sweet Winston.

Until the damn Gorilla called you up.

It wasn’t glamorous especially because you had just taken a nap and were still busy rubbing the sleep out of your eyes when the call came in. Thinking it to be your parents, you picked up without any shame as the cam turned on and you found yourself face to face with the gorilla, completely decked out in battle armor.

“Uh. Hi,” he started, awkwardly trying not to stare at the smear of drool on your chin.

You had turned the call off immediately, heart racing and throat closing up until you managed to take deep breaths and calm yourself down.

Winston wasn’t dead.

“You’re not dead,” you state, sounding incredibly calm even though you are still halfway into a panic attack.

“I’m not. I’m sorry. We all had to lay low for a while.”

Your throat gets heavy and breathing is put on hold for a little while again until you calm yourself down- you’re glad Winston gives you time to recover.

“So, uh...the reason I’m calling is because I’m wondering if you want to join us in trying to make the world a better place again. My last video was left unanswered- luckily, because that one was a bit awkward and I wouldn’t want you to see that one anyway, but… I’m ranting again,” Winston seems equally troubled to be doing this but you smile.

“Sure. Let me know when and where.”

* * *

Just like that, you were back at the Gibraltar base- only a shadow of its former glory but already brimming with activity and superheroes. And regular heroes. And Macy, the accountant. And just like that you were going through the motions of weeding out who was still alive and who wasn’t- Angela, Reinhardt, Torbjörn, Winston...But no Morrison.

“Are you alright?” Angela asks, at 8 in the morning when you’ve been staring at the coffee machine for quite some time. It was mainly because this was a new kind of machine and you were trying to figure out how it worked, but that left you alone with your thoughts and that meant trying to figure out how you could help out- and not relapse into a mix of PTSD and depression.

“Yeah, just...figuring out the coffee machine and where my life is at right now,” you joke, giving her a thumbs up once the machine starts whirring and sweet hot caffeine is pouring into your ‘if it requires pants, it’s not happening today’ cup. You often just wished you could live true to that statement.

“It is kind of weird to be back here, isn’t it?” she muses, and you’re glad you’re not the only one thinking that even though you were just a freelancer. Besides the old faces, there were also a lot of new ones- D.VA, the gamer and prankster of the bunch and her friend Lucio, a DJ. And McCree, who you’d never met before Overwatch disbanded but who was a flirt and a sweet man. 

And Soldier: 76, grumpy, old and wearing a mask everywhere.

“It feels funny. That and one of the platforms almost came loose and crushed me if it weren’t for Reinhardt being superhuman and standing there with me.”

She gives you a giggle and that’s almost enough to make you feel at home again.

“We’re doing a party. Nothing special, just good food, good company and we’re urging everyone to wear a swimsuit. It might be fun for you to attend,” she offers, and you are briefly left wondering why an illegal superhero organization would need to organize B2B-events, but the allure of fucking around in a swimsuit and getting to know everyone else is strong.

“Count me in. Will there be a barbeque?”

“Of course! Soldier: 76 has volunteered to man it.”

* * *

You were too early. You were so excited to go to a beach party that you’d haphazardly thrown on some boxers and a bikini top and some flip-flops you’d borrowed from Angela and rushed to the outside area that they’d turned into a shoddy beach- at best.

Reinhardt was throwing around some sand trying to make it seem like a beach and 76 was standing at the barbeque, copious amounts of smoke rising up from the blasted thing and they both looked absolutely hilarious.

Reinhardt, proud of the insane amount of muscle he had, was wearing what you’d rather see on McCree or his boyfriend Hanzo- only boxershorts. The man was littered with scars and grey hairs and when he spotted you, almost came charging at you like a train until he noticed your stare going to the man cooking steaks and sausages.

Soldier was sporting a Hawaiian shirt, blue apron with all kinds of cooking tools and some boxers- as well as sandals with socks. It was only after fully staring him down that you noticed he wasn’t wearing his mask- only sunglasses.

This was your chance. To find out who he was. Maybe.

“Friend! You made it!” Reinhardt grins with his booming voice and ever-contagious friendly manners, opening his arms for a hug which you gladly reciprocate.

You don’t expect to be lifted up like a 2 year old child but you’ll take it.

“Reinhardt, my giant but sweet friend,” you smile when you are back on the ground, “we’ve already gone through this ‘we meet again’-schtick.”

“One can never show enough love to their friends!” the burly man replies and you have to nod in agreement.

“What kinda sausage party is this ‘ere beachparty?” you hear McCree’s Southern drawl from the doorway and turn together with Reinhardt.

“Well, it is a barbeque,” you dryly state, kicking some of the sand up trying to look cool.

You fail horribly.

“Lookin’ fine, darlin’. Where’s everyone else?” 

You give him a nod in return for the standard- but still sweet- compliment, turning to look at the empty ‘beach’.

“Getting ready, I guess?”

* * *

Only several minutes after Jesse’s entrance- he’d told you to call him Jesse with a wink and a kissy face, and you’d promptly told him that while he was very attractive, he was dating Hanzo, and you were a bit above his age range anyway- the entire base seemed to enter the sandy grounds and pretty soon it had turned into an actual party.

Music was blasting, food was cooking and you were chatting it up with Angela about everything that had happened- the explosion, her girlfriend Pharah, her scary mother in law Ana Amari who also seemed to be alive for some reason, your harsh years- over some glasses of wine and you noticed that while Angela had gotten more mature and less idealistic, she most definitely still couldn’t handle much alcohol.

At all.

Two glasses into your conversation and she was turning red and slightly slurring- eyes constantly moving around between everything that was going on.

“So, hey, schätze-” she smiles, “I never did ask if you got Jack into your bed that one time.”

“Not exactly my bed,” you start out and she seems disappointed, “but we did just do it in my living room.”

Her girly giggle is incredibly sincere and sweet- you can’t help but let out a snort yourself.

“Man, who would’ve guessed straight-laced Jack would fuck a subordinate, huh?” you smile at her, poking her in the side with your elbow. She leans in closer and beckons you to lean in with your ear.

“Jack’s not dead.”

You instantly sit back up- straight, rigid even- and look at her with wide eyes.

“I was expecting a ‘Moira is a beast in the bedroom’, not that kind of truth-bomb.”

“She is, but that’s beside the point,” Angela waves her hands as if to literally move them beside the point, “I thought you might like to know. Hell, you might even get him into your bedroom for real this time.”

“Living room sex is also very real, Angela.”

“Myeah, sure, schätze.”

“Sausage?” 

You’re both startled by the sudden inquiry coming from 76- holding out a platter with sausages and chicken wings- with his deep, grainy voice that seemed somehow reminiscent.

“Ooooh, 76 was eavesdropping,” Angela mocks, hand in front of her mouth as she tries to stifle her giggles like a schoolgirl- and for a second you regret the fact that her girlfriend isn’t here to take care of her.

“Sure, Angela. Eat something to get the liquor out of your system.”

You were amazed by Soldier’s calm demeanor toward her where he’d normally lash out- probably- because from what you’d gathered, he didn’t exactly have the patience of a saint.

“I’ll let you two catch up, I see that D.VA needs some saving from one of those junkers Winston brought in,” you smile, curtly nodding at Soldier and patting Angela on the head.

You didn’t know what to say to Soldier and you weren’t planning on figuring it out anytime soon.

* * *

A few hours later and Angela was absolutely smashed. You knew because you could see her failing to stand up out of the corner of your eye while you tried to get to know Hanzo and his brother a bit better- promptly excusing yourself and going over to her in order to get her to her room and to sleep.

You weren't the only one with that idea, apparently. As soon as you had an arm around her waist, she latches on to someone else with her free arm.

76.

76 with eyebrows raised- making his longest scar move along with them- looking back and forth between the two of you before surrendering to the fact that a drunk doctor Ziegler was a stubborn doctor Ziegler.

“Let’s get you to bed, Angela,” you say, hoisting her up as Soldier also gets an arm around her middle- you can almost feel the muscles touching your flimsy arm.

“I am not sleeping yet. I am a doctor. I decide when I sleep. I know what’s healthy-”

“You are undoubtedly the best in the field, but you are also piss-fucking-drunk, Angie. Cut the crap and listen to me- us,” you correct the last word with a glance toward 76, hoping that he’d try to help you convince her.

“Psshh, you could both stand to loosen up a bit too. Did I ever tell you how much I missed you both? I missed you a lot. I love you very much. Pharah is going to love you, too,” Angela slurs- most of the sentences directed at you but you can’t help but wonder who exactly Soldier was before this new Overwatch.

Surely if Angela knew him he had to be connected to the old Overwatch somehow.

“I’m sure I’ll love Pharah as well,” you say, “but listen to Soldier: 76.”

You look at him as if to urge him to talk sense into her. He frowns.

“Yeah, uh. What she says,” the man says, completely unconvincing, as you are finally in the correct hallway leading to the medical bay- and subsequently, Angela’s quarters.

“Great support, 76. I’m sure she’s going to listen now,” you sass- and are happy to find Soldier is not angry but actually grinning at your taunt.

“If she doesn’t listen to you, I doubt anyone else can convince her.”

You don’t really know if that’s a reference to your clear friendship with Ziegler or because he has read your files and knows that convincing is your job- you hope it’s not the latter.

“I can hear both of you. I am not dumb. Or deaf. I am a doctor. Did I mention that?” Angela slurs again, seemingly conversing more with herself than with the both of you at the moment.

“Yes, Angie. You are. Very good. Now give me your keycard,” you smile, Soldier taking Angela’s full weight for a second while you rummage through her pockets until you find the card. 

“ _OoOOoh_ , is this sexual harassment? I’m going to have to write you up for sexual harassment, schätze,” she giggles, but luckily you find the keycard soon enough and open the door to her room.

After an arduous battle to get her undressed and into bed- Soldier was politely waiting in her office- you close the bedroom door and let out a long sigh.

“She’s a tough cookie when she’s drunk, isn’t she?” Soldier smiles. 

“She is. Hey, question. Why sandals with socks?” 

You couldn’t help it- it was such a fashion faux-pas that you needed to know before this night would end.

“It’s comfortable.”

The dry, yet honest retort, made you snort again.

“You could do with wearing a clean suit. It would look better on you,” you smile at him- happy to have found some kind of conversational topic and simultaneously thinking about burly men in suits, which was always fun to think about.

“Bet you would like to see that,” Soldier says.

Wait.

_How_ does he know your inclination towards fancy dress?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this and it just kind of ended up like this. Hope you smut-lovers will forgive me! Also disclaimer: mention of panic attacks. I haven't ever had one myself but I do know many wonderful people who have them sometimes so I tried to do the gravity of it justice without it being too graphic.

Incredulously, you stare at the breathing fashion faux-pas that apparently knew about your preferences concerning dress code, and you take a few moments to blink and point.

“How do you know I like suits? We’ve never talked to each other.”

He doesn’t pause in his footsteps, even though you did, and the only thing you can see is a slightly stiffer posture in the man’s large frame while you wait for him to stop walking and address your question.

“Angela...talks sometimes?” he tries, but he’s clearly trying to convince himself more. He’s not wearing the mask and the slight doubt in his voice is even more noticeable because of it.

“Yes, she is a person. I doubt you two discuss my fashion preferences, though,” you taunt back- you actually don’t mind that much that he knows, but it is hilarious seeing him trying to find a coherent explanation.

He finally turns back to you, still keeping the comfortable distance of about 10 feet away from you and you can see his forehead is extra wrinkled because his eyebrows are scrunching together above his sunglasses- that he’s wearing indoors, at night- and his mouth is a straight line.

“I think you might want to keep it a mystery how I know.”

You snort.

“Jeeze, louise, don’t be so serious. I was just joking around. Everyone likes men in suits. And women in suits. And dogs in suits, too. Perhaps even fish in suits…” you start trailing off but notice the poignant sunglasses-stare in your direction, complete with a raised eyebrow, “Sorry, got kind of derailed there. You want to go get a drink now that we’ve put the kid to bed?”

You wouldn’t admit it out loud but you were also a bit lightheaded- but not as hammered as Angela. You knew full well what you were doing and saying- and what she had said about Morrison. Surely, if this guy was close to Angela, he might also be up to date on that. 

It was your last resort before you would hassle the information out of Winston by threatening to set his books on fire. You really didn’t want to go that far.

“Uh, sure?” 

He didn’t seem entirely sure whether or not going with you was a good idea, but you were already heading toward the common room- you knew you’d stashed some bottles there together with Reinhardt for your infamous poker nights and you figured this was a special enough occasion to break them out.

Soon enough, the old soldier is next to you again- walking in time with you.

“Where are we going?” 76 asks- he probably expected you to lead him back outside again to where McCree was drunkenly serenading his boyfriend and Reinhardt was weightlifting benches. Alas, you were not in the mood for that kind of noise right now- even if hanging with 76 meant no noise at all in most cases.

“Common room. Reinhardt and I stocked up on some good liquor.”

When you enter and immediately make a beeline for the wooden crate behind the lounge chair- in which there was an array of promotional material from way back when, under which there were two random plushies, and then below that was a bottle of cognac wrapped in tacky Christmas packing paper to make it seem like another piece of crap- Soldier is just awkwardly standing in the doorway while you throw around posters and plushies.

“You can go sit down. Unless you don’t want some cognac, then you can leave,” you tell him curtly, before throwing a poster at his head- which he dodges, of course- “or you can find some glasses. We forgot to bring those.”

“I feel like it might be best not to leave you alone in this warzone,” 76 dryly states, and you have to agree slightly- the ground was not visible anymore due to your frantic unpacking and you were prone to slipping and falling every once in a while.

“Good, because drinking alone would be kind of pathetic,” you smile at him- dropping down into the largest couch as elegantly as possible, which meant not elegant at all. Even though that was the case, 76 was staring a bit too rudely, in your opinion.

“You going to stare at my jumping prowess or are you going to sit down?” you mock, opening the bottle and taking a sip- unlike vodka, this goes down smoothly and tastes better- and he sits down reluctantly while you offer the bottle to him.

“Your top is riding up,” he states- calmly, but you can see his head turning away slowly as he takes a sip as well. You pull it down nonchalantly.

“Oh come on, 76, it’s not like you haven’t seen skin before,” you grin, lopsided, motioning for him to give the bottle back so you can take another drink.

“I don’t want to discuss sex with colleagues.”

He says it so dryly, you almost feel the professionality hitting you.

“We’re all adults here. It’s not like it’s taboo. I mean, especially not if you’re McCree apparently,” you retort with a vigor- after all, you’d done the deed with colleagues before and you weren’t in for sass from a walking, talking, sock-in-sandal-wearing party pooper.

Or maybe that was the cognac starting to rile you up.

“He’s always been like that.”

Another answer from the walking mystery that must mean he was somehow involved with Overwatch before all this, but you still didn’t quite know how.

“You know a lot of people here really well, don’t you?” you don’t ask it with any sass attached to it, but you were starting to wonder who the fuck this was.

“I’ve been around.”

At that, he motions for the bottle and takes not a sip, but a large gulp. Maybe it wasn’t best to ask him about this after all.

* * *

You didn’t exactly have a hangover the next day, but you sure as hell didn’t feel as good as you normally did- your walk to the coffee machine was slow and hard and for a few moments panicky while you tried to figure out if you’d buried the cognac again.

Because you sure as hell hadn’t cleaned up the common room.

Luckily, you were one of the less hungover people on the base- almost everyone was still sleeping in and enjoying the soft snuggle with their blankets. It almost gave the base an eerie feel to it, being so empty and quiet.

“Good morning,” you nod to whoever is in the kitchen- you know someone is there because you saw a blur out of the corner of your eye, but because of your hasty shuffle to the coffee machine, you hadn’t taken the time to look properly.

“Morning,”  a metallic hum sings back- so 76 was up early as well. What a coincidence.

“You slept well? I think I might’ve overdone it with those last 6 sips of Cognac,” you mutter, sounding a lot more hoarse and tired- but then again, 76 always sounded kind of hoarse with that mask and his deep lull. So you weren’t exactly out of place right now.

“Funny, I feel like I could’ve used a few more drinks of that,” he replies.

The coffee machine makes a whirring sound when you realize you are actually having small talk with the most unsociable person in the entire base, without being drunk. You are kind of disappointed that he’s put his mask back on- everyone got a good look at what his face looked like anyway last night, bar his eyes.

Maybe that was his thing. Maybe he looked so disgusting hungover that he decided he needed to cover it up right now.

“You’re always welcome to join me and Reinhardt during poker night. It’s usually one round of poker, Reinhardt stripping and then Reinhardt going to his room, talking about sending an email to Ana about how much he loves her,” you reminisce, “so basically it’s more of a ‘Reinhardt strips’-night than a poker night, really.”

When you sit yourself down at the table, you notice he has a steaming cup of coffee sitting in front of him. Which means he’ll have to take his mask off. Trying to be discreet, you lock eyes with his face almost instantly- waiting.

“That’s really not much of a pitch to make me want to join,” Soldier responds, a slight hint of amusement in his voice. You are amazed that you went from never talking to casually chatting about grandpa-shenanigans over coffee.

“Well, I’m still at poker night. I usually just drink, play one round of poker, lose, and then I start stripping down. Hell, it might loosen you up.”

“Why do you start stripping down?” the amusement clearly sounds through in his voice now, clearly wondering why you would start doing that.

“When Reinhardt leaves, the booze is all for me and then things escalate quite quickly. I might hold back if I have to be decent for someone else that’s around.”

It’s his turn to finally snort- and it baffles you to know the old soldier had some kind of fun in him.

“I’ll let you know when we’re having another round. Probably won’t be anytime soon considering yesterday.”

* * *

“I’ve got a mission for you,” Winston says.

You were called to his office about a week after the beach party- and considering you mostly helped him with paperwork, this statement was quite the surprise.

“What?” you counter almost instantly, dropping the file you were reading through.

“It’s nothing dangerous. There’s a big mingling event and we need to find out who might want to fund an illegal operation.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Tell me I’m not going alone,” you state, putting the file back where it belongs- a pile of unfinished documents.

“Soldier: 76 is coming with you. It kind of surprised me since it’s a public event, but he’s good back-up should something happen.”

You purse your lips.

“What kind of event are we talking about? Charity fundraiser? A ball?”

“A masked ball. I think that might be why 76 wanted to go,” Winston shrugs, handing you a file with all the specifics.

“Aw, Winston, this is on poker night. You know I hate skipping poker night,” you pout, looking at the date- 2 weeks from now. That didn’t even give you much time to go clothes shopping.

“Just this once. I’ll tell Reinhardt you’re preoccupied. And you get a budget to get some nice clothes,” the gorilla says, “and a mask. Evidently.”

“If I wasn’t such a material girl, I wouldn’t agree...but I could use a nice dress.”

* * *

To be frank, you hadn’t expected Soldier: 76 to dress up, at all. You’d expected he’d turn up in his usual leather jacket and combat pants and that you’d have to drag him to a store right before leaving, but he was wearing a snazzy dark blue suit and his mask.

Lucky bastard didn’t have to go around looking for an appropriate mask.

You didn’t really fit in with each other either- your mask was more historic, Venetian, with lots of curls and some feathers- and your dress was maybe a bit too much for the evening. But considering the guest list, you figured you’d blend in more by looking like you were on your way to meet a king.

“Looking good, 76,” you mutter while handing an employee your -fake- invitations, trying to smile and look pretty.

“Not looking too shabby yourself. Maybe a bit much feathers,” Soldier replies, taunting, as the man checking your invitations looks back and forth between you both. You hadn’t checked the invitations because you had no doubt D.VA had the skills to recreate anything digitally, so his long stares were worrying.

“Something wrong?” you ask, coyly, as the employee turns to you again.

“I’m sorry, madam. Are you two an item?”

Fuck.

She probably had a little fun and made you married to 76 for the evening.

“Indeed we are,” you keep your fake smile wide, “this is mister Brooks. He’s not much of a talker.”

Soldier grunts in reply, hand sneaking around your waist to give the lie a bit more weight.

“I see. My apologies, then.”

Well, that meant the employee was onto you. You’d have to stay low. Nonetheless, you both make it inside- Soldier’s warm hand still resting on your side while you look around at the impressive mansion.

“We’re not going to have much time before we’re found out by how that guy reacted,” he grunts in your ear. You hum in agreement.

“Just a quickie in-and-out then. I already know who I have to talk to. Are you coming with or?”

You expected a full-on no, considering he wasn’t the life of the party or the most pleasant person to be around- especially if you didn’t know him- but he keeps up with your steps.

“I’ll have to. They’ll be more suspicious if we seperate.”

“Yeah, probably. Let’s go then.”

* * *

You were 2 hours, give or take, into socializing with an angry soldier standing next to you constantly before you noticed more guards were keeping their eyes on you- and you’re sure 76 noticed too.

“We’re going somewhere else,” he says, leading you away after a quick goodbye.

“Where? There’s guards everywhere.”

“Wherever married couples go to have some peace and quiet,” 76 says, and when you look behind you, there’s 3 guards closing in.

“Peace and quiet or  _ peace and quiet _ ?”

“The second one.”

You couldn’t help your grimace- while you did think 76 cleaned up nicely, you were supposed to be professional here- and it’s only when you’re up two flights of stairs and entering the more hidden rooms and corridors of the mansion that the soldier notices.

“I’m not going to do anything,” he says, and there’s a hint of something there- ridicule, rejection- you can’t decipher what exactly it is.

“It’s not that,” you quickly correct, feeling bad- “it’s just not that professional, you know?”

It might be your imagination but it seems like he leans in a bit closer.

“I recall you saying ‘it’s not like it’s taboo’,” he whispers- and for some reason, it resonates down to your spine which sends shivers back up.

“It’s not gentlemanly to hold my drunk monologues against me,” you grin, tilting your head so your looking at the mask, “so what now? There’s still two on our tail.”

His pace slows until you are at a balcony- leading you towards the beautiful marble balustrade- before twirling you so he’s only inches away. His arms are on either side of your body and he’s leaning like he’s kissing you- but he’s not. He’s actually quite polite about the proximity, trying his best not to touch you without consent.

“Tell me when they’re gone,” he whispers, leaning a bit further to your ear- and you can see the buttons that release his mask.

In what must be a sincere lack of judgment, you feel your arms reaching up and fiddling with the mechanism until it hisses- the front of the mask dropping into your sweaty hands.

As if by instinct, afraid to get caught- you close your eyes and purse your lips before letting out a string of apologies.

“I couldn’t- I’m so sorry, it’s just your face is a mystery and you’re so close and it’s right there and- I’m so sorry,” you dejectedly whispering, expecting the ass-whooping of the century- perhaps he might even toss you off of this balcony, which he very much could considering he had all the muscle and you had none.

You’re still not looking- closing your eyes so hard lights are appearing in the dark of your own bad judgements- and you hear his breath come out hitched and surprised while your fingers clamp down on the thing you weren’t supposed to take off of his face.

“Do you want to know?” he asks- surprisingly calm, even though there’s a shake to his voice.

You keep your eyes firmly closed.

“I don’t want to force you into letting me look,” you huff, still upset with your childish behaviour- you were a sass-master galore but you knew when boundaries were crossed.

“This might be as good a time as any, sweetheart.”

You can’t help your eyes opening at the term of endearment- you didn’t expect it, especially not in this situation- and though it’s dark outside, you can see his baby blue eyes shimmer in the light of the moon.

Considering you’d already seen the rest, the sudden addition of eyeballs made everything click, somehow.

Or not.

Your brain was fumbling to give the face a name- you recognized it, for sure, but not completely.

“You’re going to catch flies if you keep your mouth open like that,” he smirks- voice still as heavy and rumbling as before, but less metallic.

“I know you- don’t I? I feel like I do. But from where?” you ramble again- carefully placing the mask on the balustrade.

“We went on a date once,” he says- scars somehow lighting up the sheer exhaustion in his features as his eyes trace your face for any kind of recognition. 

“Oh my god.”

A smile starts forming on his lips as it dawns on you- and you can feel the thumping in your throat and breathing becoming exceedingly hard.

“I- uh- I’m sorry, I’m having a bit of trouble-”

You can feel tears- happy, or angry, you don’t know yet- forming in the corners of your eyes and you are skirting on the edge of a panic attack as sobs are begging to break loose.

“If you want me to keep my distance, I can-”

“No, no, no, I’m just having a bit of a panic attack. I, uh-” words were flinging themselves all around your brain and you just placed your arms around the man’s huge chest, leaning in close so you could use the stability as a crutch to hold on to.

On cue, his hands reach around as well as he rubs circles on your back.

“I didn’t plan to reveal it like this.”

You’re still breathing heavily, trying to calm down.

“I had this whole thing planned, but then I figured you deserve the truth as much as Angela and Winston- it was just kind of hard to get to that point.”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, and you feel him perk up a little at your affirmation.

“If you don’t want to-”

“I don’t want you to disappear again. This might be-”

You both pause.

“A bit clingy, because we just had sex once and such, but I would really like to go out on a date again, sometime, if you want- considering you’re not dead and such- this sounded so much better in my head,” you ramble- his hands pause and you’re just about ready to go back into panic mode when you feel pressure on your head and a smacking-lips sound.

“I’d love that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've been studying French for too long, I needed a quick break. This will only be a few chapters.


End file.
